


Melody

by Quinnacin



Series: Mob of The Dead [1]
Category: Call of Duty (Video Games), Mob of The Dead (Call of Duty)
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Call of Duty: Zombies, Depression, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Painplay, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other: See Story Notes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rival Relationship, Self-Harm, Slow Build, To Be Edited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinnacin/pseuds/Quinnacin
Summary: "Oh! Some doll named Alexis," he chuckled, savouring another taste of the blunt. "Yeah, but if I hadn't had burst in that goddamn window, I should still be free now."Sal scoffed. "You wanted to work for me, so you get shit done when I want, no matter what."Handsome slams his palm on the table, angrily gritting his teeth. "I should've gutted that goddamn bitch when I had the chance! Fuckin' fucker . ." He smoked another, but it didn't calm him down. "Just so you know, I didn't do it for you. I did it 'cause that fucker had it comin'."





	Melody

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, so I was watching this documentary on escaping Alcatraz, and I couldn't help but think of my favourite zombie characters from motd.
> 
> *****This was created with less detail than I usually do. I might go back and redo the chapter so it will be made with more detail.*****  
> Read end notes,

9:30, Warden came around, walking past the cell blocks and notifying each inmate to shut off their lights. It was a daily, the usual thing he did since the time they were here. Sometimes, the Warden made small talk. It wasn't just the usual, 'Be quiets' or 'stop talking' and 'lights out' all the inmates become accustomed to. Warden made casual talk to four certain inmates, for reasons he didn't really understand. Warden pauses at Salvatore DeLuca's cell, his cell bright and a mug of coffee in his fingers; the wonted.

"Sal," Warden begins, immediately catching the eyes of the Italian as soon as he stopped in front of the cell. "Lights out." He said it was respect, not in the usual cold way as he did to the others. Sure, Sal didn't think of it as much, but it was a whole 'nother deal when it came to the staff of Alcatraz Island giving him just a little more respect as if he were the king of them all --- all because be was a mobster, a compelling leader.

"Sure thing," the Italian shrugs it off with a mere sip of his cup of coffee, barely moving from the bed to reach at the string dangling in the air, giving it a quick tug as the room darkens. Warden walks on to the next cell, Finn O' Leary's.

He pauses in front of Finn, who's on the toilet, the usual, a newspaper in his hands. His face is up, turned toward the door, faintly mixed with disgust just at the sight of one of the staff members. Warden knew damn well he wanted off the island, because who didn't? "Lights out in five."

"Gotcha."

Warden turns around, a slight creaking noise burned at his ears. He was quick enough to catch the inmate next to the cell across from Finn, clawing at the bars of the cell with something he could not yet recognise. The inmate continued to do it for a few more seconds, stopping when he feels the prickle of eyes on him. He looks up, face shocked in one second, and confused in another. "Warden," he shakily grinned, "just getting ready for bed." He flickered off the light, settling onto the cold rough bed. He makes swift eye contact with Finn, giving him a look of annoyance. Finn shrugged him off as some pest, finding the old newspaper more important than what the inmate got himself into.

Warden neared the bars of the cell, a stern look on his face, his mouth slowly opening and Finn instantly knew what was coming. That inmate had been caught trying to cut open the bars with a spoon. It wasn't his fault for that inmate being so incredibly stupid for carving into the bar at such a risky time, and no other inmate, including the favoured four, spoke of him, his actions, and that ugly noise of squeaking all night long; because they were no snitch. Finn knows where that inmate is going, it's that cell block where everything is far worse than the conditions here. Yeah. Alcatraz was pretty bad, but great for the worst of the worst people. He opens up the bars of the cell, a demand for the prisoner to come on out. The inmate keeps a forced stern face, trying his best not to show his obvious fear, "It wasn't what it looked like!"

Dear, lord, this inmate's lies and stories were as bad as sharing a bathroom with an inmate back in an actual prison, much less than this fuckin' hellhole. Finn watches, shaking his head as the inmate is put into handcuffs and walked further down the hall. Weasel is fast asleep, occasional snores fill the air and honestly becomes a bother to Finn when he's so close to falling to sleep, only to have a snore erupt from nowhere. Oz, an inmate he found himself talking to more than all the other inmates, tried starting a conversation. Oz is on the floor, his lights off, legs folded beneath himself with both hands on the bar. He's peeking through the bars, watching as Finn slowly looked over, annoyance curling on his feautures. "What?" He bitterly growled.

"I'm kinda itching to get a swim in those waters," he whispered, and the way he whispered had everyone who was awake hear every damn word he said. Finn's hands lowers the newspaper from his eyes, brown pupils flicking over to the cell across from him. 

He shakes his head, sticking his nose into the newspaper. "Maybe they'll let you drown in it."

Oz shuts his mouth, a few of his teeth missing judging by the toothy grin he made. The Irish man finished up the newpaper, drew out the lights and layer in his bed. He could still hear the screams from the inmate being dragged down the hall by Warden, no doubt was he getting punishment. Finn covers himself with the very little blankets he had, listening to the growing snores from the others in the cell block as he forced himself to sleep, not like he'll get much of it.

xxx 

Morning drew in before he knew it, even with the lights off, the whole cell block was lit with morning shine. He rubs his eyes, not exactly tired even though he slept through very little sleep, only because he grew used to becoming tired, never ever getting what he needed, but at least he still got shit done. Finn kicked off the blankets, did his usual routine before they're doors were checked. You see, he grows into this habit of waking, counting down the seconds until Warden pauses in front of his cell. 6 in the morning, is what is read on the clock, Finn began counting down the last thirty seconds till 6:30.

Twenty five, twenty four . . . He heard the morning call that demands them to be awake. You didn't exactly have to be awake at that time, but if you missed breakfast, it was entirely on you. Finn's been here for a while, knows almost every joint of Alcatraz, except D-wing. He's never been to that side. Warden cracked a sour smile at Finn. It wasn't the friendly type of smile, of course it wasn't.

"Nice to see you up this early," Warden pressed on, before coldly walking off. Finn is left doubting something is right, because it never really is. There's someone on his heels, someone who had to be as new inmate, but he couldn't catch as glimpse because of the many guards holding to him assume tightly as they could. Baddy, wasn't he?

Sudden shouts of interests and joy erupt from the inmates, mainly the ones upstairs who rarely got any of the action that happened downstairs. One whistled even, "Let's see him!"

Finn doesn't know if he could consider himself lucky for getting the cell right next to the new guy, or unlucky because he'll hear the constant shout aimed towards his way, and he'll be the one to also listen to it. He couldn't leave his cell, only for breakfast and dinner and showers. Finn peers through the bar, pressing himself against the right side of the wall to try real hard to see who this new guy was. His back was turned, all Finn could see was his backside, not even.

Warden hushed all of the growing shout with a harsh shout. It merely quieted only a few, the ones who continued, continued. Warden shook his head. He gestures towards the cell, allowing the inmate to enter, dropping his things on the bed and settling along with it. From the very corner of his room ( cell ), Finn could see the side of Warden, facing towards the cell. He watched his face curl into something more menacing, pure disgust blended with a smile that told him otherwise, "Here, you bloodlust bastard," he reached into his back pocket, tossing something into the cell, something Finn wasn't able to catch a glimpse of. He sees Warden lean in, "You got harsher punishments than any other inmate here, Handsome. I suggest you behave," he straightens his back, bangs his police baton against the bars once he closes and locks it, "psych tests in five, D-wing, you psycho."

Finn locks eye contact with Warden who had been passing by, who didn't say anything but shove the baton back into his belt holder. He walks out of the block with the guards behind him, the large door slamming and locking. The shouts had stopped long after Warden told that inmate. Whoever this was, must've did some shit. Literal shit. Shit that got him some real punishment. Also, Finn didn't really want to bring up the whole nickname thing, handsome. Maybe it was Warden's way of playing with him. Whatever.

Finn picks up the newspaper, takes a seat on the toilet, and continues to ignore Oz's constant tries to start a conversation with him. Oh, how he missed Angela and those old gamble games.

XXX

Everyone was released for breakfast. Many of the inmates sat with their groups, gangs, whatever the hell they wanted as long as nothing suspicious went on. Salvatore and Finn sat together, both eating and watching and verbal fight. The name calling just became stupid, repeats and uses and the two just chuckled at their stupidity. It isn't until their attention is put upon Weasel, who's running towards their table and swiftly takes a seat before the guard, who'd been yelling at him to stop running, could move from the corner and chase after him. He sets his bottled water on the table, slipping his legs beneath the table. Without a second glance, Weasel pulls out a folded up piece of paper from his jacket, unfolding it with a large grin, eyes glimmering with excitement.

"Guys," he grinned, "take a look!"

Both Sal and Finn peer over at the paper, to take a look, but before they can read it, Sal asks, "What's this, Weasel?"

"Well, I-Ive been getting into poetry lately. Take a look at this," he smoothes it out, "it's called, The Golden Spork-"

"What the hell is poetry going to do? Where's it gonna get us, Weasel?" Sal rudely snapped, forcing the man to swiftly put it away. He doesn't look very hurt, because he's used to getting treated as literal shit by everyone around him. Because he was nothing but a rat.

"I haven't come up with anything yet," says Weasel, starting to lose himself again. The man was lost in a forest of depression, all he did was sleep, write, and think about why he was still alive. Finn couldn't make fun of that, cause all he did was think about women and mourn Angela. "Maybe we can build a boat. Or maybe a helicopter . . say," he begins to smile, "a drone sounds really cool."

The man begin to sketch away at his sketchbook, fingers moving the pencil in quick sketch lines. Sal exhales through his nose, and Finn just watches the escalating fight that even had guards demand them to quiet down. He sees one of the inmates ball up their fists. Oh, shit. The door of the room creaked open, a man dress in a long white coat held the door open for a prisoner, mumbling something before shutting the door after his leave. The inmate looks around for a bit, sees the fight, and heads the opposite direction.

His face doesn't read any emotion, just until he makes contact with Finn. He eyes flickered over to Sal, who was too bothered by Weasel's annoying begging to build a drone. Finn doesn't say a word as the inmate took a seat by Weasel. He had to have been new. Finn hasn't seen his face around, and he's been here for a while now. This was probably the new inmate that arrived last night.

It had to have been. The inmate wore a white long sleeve shirt, one that Finn remembered seeing last night. His sides were shaved, the rest of his black hair messily slicked back with cowlicks here and there. His eyes were the only thing closest to the word pretty, the rest of him was, something else --- those piercing blue eyes, nearly silver stared into his damn soul, he could feel it. They were sharp, and no doubt he could feel heavy tension that wasn't there before this inmate arrived.

"Sal," the man grinned. There was, no doubt, this man was obviously suspicious.

"Handsome," Sal looks very little impressed, "fancy seeing you here."

Handsome took out a cigar from his pocket, lit it, and set it to his mouth, a long inhale before a small gasp, "Fuuck," his voice raises, "didn't think I'd meet you. Ya' see, I wasn't really planning on getting that last person you ordered. Who were they?" He scrunched his face up, chewing at the cigar until his face suddenly changed. "Oh! Some doll named Alexis," he chuckled, savouring another taste of the blunt. "Yeah, but if I hadn't had burst in that goddamn window, I should still be free now."

Sal scoffed. "You wanted to work for me, so you get shit done when I want, no matter what."

Handsome slams his palm on the table, angrily gritting his teeth. "I should've gutted that goddamn bitch when I had the chance! Fuckin' fucker . ." He smoked another, but it didn't calm him down. "Just so you know, I didn't do it for you. I did it 'cause that fucker had it comin'."

Handsome stared angrily into nothing, taking a few more tastes. It'd been about a minute before he pushed the lit side of the cigar on the table, taking it out before tossing it. He looked over at Finn. "Who're you?"

"Oh! You're Finn O' Leary, ain't you?" Billy didn't give him him a chance to answer, a slow grin began to a grow on his face. It's one constructed of interest, but it was kind of off. "I know you. I did two counts of murder for you," he looked confused, lost for a second before he cleared his mind, "At least, it was under your name, I'm sure."

Finn thinks back, forcing himself to loose the thoughts of Angela - though he didn't want to - to remember back to when he ordered something, wanted someone gone. Yes. Oh, does he remember that clearly. He was one of the strongest mobsters, but they're been one certain mobster who constantly threatened Finn, so he hired a hit men - never having to meet the man himself - so rid of him. The other murder was just a blur. "Yeah," Finn grumbled, "I remember you."

"Never got to meet you in person," he grabbed Finn's hand without permission, did a one-sided handshake with a stern look on his face. "Just to let you know, one of your men, John, I think it was? was a complete fuckhead, so I ripped his throat." He gave him a split second grin.

He suddenly snatched the orange from Weasel's hands, "Hey-!" And took a bite of it, because it was already peeled. Finn watched him, one question on his mind that showed no use, but refused to disappear. Who the fuck eats an orange like that? Finn thinks, watching the man bite the orange instead of taking it apart, eating the pieces one by one.

He stood up from the table, walking back to the door where he had entered through, telling the guard something who nodded at him, going with him as they leave the room. Finn is dumbfounded. He killed John, the little bitch that he hired killed one of his men right under his nose, and he didn't suspect a damn thing. He thought it was one of the other mobsters' men, back for revenge for the killing of their leader. Finn's face is scrunched in disbelief, fucking bullshit.

He glanced towards at Weasel, who looked a little confused but continued his drawing. The man didn't even acknowledge him, but Al was used to it and it didn't even bother him. Finn looked over at Sal. "Who was that?"

"Billy Handsome," he told the Irish man, "at hitmen that works for me. Well, at least tries to." He scoffed, remembering the countless times Billy failed to prove himself, but that was before his first kill. Now, he's considered a full-fledged murderer. "Bah, I'm going back to my cell."

XXX

Time was up for breakfast, and everyone was already sent back and locked in their cell, the usual. What isn't usual is Finn not thinking about Angela, which was definitely rare. He was still thinking about the mysterious arrival and departure of Billy Handsome.

Now, Finn isn't completely blind to Billy. He knew who this man was, knew that this man was in some serious hot water, enough to have his name pop up in so, so many newspapers, articles, the news, and, shit, word spread fast on the streets. Finn, being a mobster, got a hear of Billy Handsome only once, but had long forgotten Handsome once he needed a hire for a hitmen. Finn didn't even get to talk or see the person who he hired, because he got John to do all his work for him. John worked for Finn, so even if he did the work, the murder still counted under Finn O' Leary, but he never got that charge. Billy Handsome had been charged with it, along with the murder of John Kalec. The police never investigated John's death, just slapped it onto many of the charges Billy had gotten --- he already had thirty counts, adding up the murder of the mobster and 2nd degree murder of John Kalec. He still hadn't been caught at that point.

Finn finds it pointless mourning over Angela, which was brought just fresh out of the daises, especially since he had just been thinking of the newbie. There were other things to think about, but nothing distracted him most than the loving, soft arms of his wife who he knew he wouldn't ever see again. Fuck, had he fucked up bad. Fucking gambling. 16 frauds of it, too. Not like he had a chance of ever getting out. Billy popped into his head once more. That man had many murders, only hell knew exactly what the fuck would happen to him.

Speaking of the devil himself, Billy fucking Handsome happened to be walking by his cell. There was a guard following close behind him, so he would be shoved even if he wanted room look at Finn, which he really didn't. The only thing Finn found himself able to do was grit his teeth in white-blinding anger.

He would kill this man.

**Author's Note:**

> It took about a whole nother hour long than it should've because the app I used to save my writing deleted 2000 words of the 3000! Mother of shit, I had to redo the whole damn thing, but I ended up liking the remake better than the original.
> 
> ****created with less detail than my other works. It would've been a damn pain redoing all those details, luckily I never included them
> 
> Some inmates are fictional because we only know four in motd world. Oz is a bit cheaper if you don't see it coming.  
> See top notes,


End file.
